Lori A. A.
Bio
Teacher. Writer. Tech Enthusiast.
I write stories, reflections, and insights from a life lived curiously; sharing the lessons, the chaos, and the light in between.
Stories (55)
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What We Do on Sundays
Every Sunday at exactly 6:40 p.m., we set the table for three. This is the ritual. The time never changes, even when the light does. In summer, the sun still presses against the windows, lingering, curious. In winter, the room is already blue with evening, the corners soft and retreating. But the clock is firm. 6:40. Not earlier. Never later.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Fiction
The Marking
Every night before sleep, Mara draws a line on Jonah’s back. The ritual began without discussion, which is how most enduring things begin. The first night they spent together in the apartment, Jonah complained about an itch he couldn’t reach, somewhere between his shoulder blades. Mara traced her finger along his spine, slow and deliberate, and said, “Here?”
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Fiction
The Ninth Arrangement
1. On the morning the shelves were reordered, Elias arrived at the archive ten minutes early. This only mattered because the building unlocked at exactly eight, so arriving early meant Elias had a few extra minutes to wait. He stood on the third step, holding his briefcase, and looked at the brass plaque listing donors who no longer came.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Fiction
When Silence Speaks Louder Than Screens
For a long time, I thought connection had to be loud to be real. Notifications buzzing. Messages lighting up my phone. Endless conversations happening all at once. If I wasn’t responding, posting, reacting, I felt like I was disappearing. And I don’t think I was alone in that feeling. We were taught that presence meant visibility, and visibility meant value.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Earth
The Case of the Missing Moon
It was raining magic the night the moon went missing. This wasn’t an exaggeration. Magic really filled the air. Blue sparks slid down the gutters, glowing until they turned to steam. The rain made your skin itch and left you uneasy.
By Lori A. A.about a month ago in Fiction
